


Reasonable Adjustments

by asuralucier



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Ambiguous Post Canon, F/M, Fluff, Getting Together, How do you Mustang-proof your bathroom?, Roommates, Roy Mustang: terrible houseguest, Saint Riza Hawkeye, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-06 08:58:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18847795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/pseuds/asuralucier
Summary: Roy’s house is undergoing extended renovations and Hawkeye offers him a place to stay.(Or, in between trying not to put bits of gunmetal in the salad  and being terrible roommates, Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye realize that ten years is a very long time.)





	Reasonable Adjustments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blackglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackglass/gifts).



> This was fun to write! I hope you enjoy - also let’s just handwave the fact that the Amestrian state military has firm rules against fraternization...

Brigadier General Roy Mustang, aged thirty, had plans for his life. With his new pay rise, he’d purchased a new kitchen, ordered a new bed and a sofa, the works. It’d seemed like a good idea...at the time.

It was funny how little details bloomed into great importance once he didn’t have to worry about Homunculi, or arranging for a coup d'etat, or looking after a certain brat alchemist and his brother. The lattermost was by far the obvious thing that was missing in his life, not that Roy was ever going to admit to it.

The country of Amestris was rebuilding itself after a change of regime. This required a shift in priorities: for the moment, Roy’s biggest concern was that he had had no running water at his residence. He also had no stove, no bed (apparently his order had been mistakenly shipped to East City and nobody could find it) and so this was his eighth day camping out on his office floor.

Roy minded it only a little. It wasn’t as if he was a stranger to sleeping in his office, which was bigger than the last office he’d had to sleep in but --

“I think if you spend one more day on the floor of your office, your staff might revolt,” said Hawkeye, nudging his shoulder with the toe of her boot.

Roy’s back was also voicing complaints, but those complaints were easier to ignore.

“Is that what they’re saying down at the local watering hole?” Roy yawned and leaned up on his elbows.

“Not in so many words,” Hawkeye moved to sit at his desk. She technically didn’t work for him anymore, but they saw each other often and old habits died hard and sometimes she still cleaned his desk. “But you know, there’s no reason you should be slumming in the office, sir, when you know, the rest of us have houses. And spare sofas. Maybe even a spare bed if you ask nicely.”

Roy had indeed considered this fact long before he decided to bunk in the office. He’d known his people for a long time, Feury, Breda, Falman, Havoc, and of course, Hawkeye. The unit functioned more like a family these days, with after-work drinks and a rotating weekday dinner to round things out, but Roy had to switch his out with Feury to accommodate his prolonged renovations, but that was the other thing about family. You didn’t want to spend too much time around them or else.

Roy sighed, “Do you remember the last time I had to kip on Havoc’s sofa?”

“Trust me, we _all_ remember,” said Hawkeye.

“And the last time Falman stayed with me?”

“I think I just about remember that, yes. You two didn’t speak for a week.”

Well, that was Roy’s point proven, then; as far as he was concerned, that was the matter closed. “...Anyway, it’s better that I sleep here. I’m near work, I don’t have anything to worry about.” He laid back down and pressed a volume of some sort over his head to keep out the sun. It really was very bright.

“Come stay with me,” Hawkeye said and Roy peered up at her again. “I have a spare room. And if you’re home when I’m not, you can take Hayate for a walk. See, it works out.”

“...Stay, with you?” Roy blinked. His first thought was that it was a terrible idea, not because he disliked Riza Hawkeye in any way. In fact, Roy would go as far as to say that he liked her. Quite an inordinate amount, certainly enough to refuse her spare room. Though come to think of it, none of the guys had a spare room. Roy technically did, but nobody was sleeping in his study. The books in there were expensive, thank you.

Hawkeye fixed with a long look, “What’s the matter? Come on, General, you’re going to offend me if you keep thinking about it. Or do you have a girlfriend now and you’re just hiding her from the rest of us?”

“What? No! I’m practically dating you...guys. You guys. Where would I find the time?” Roy winced. Did he manage to save it? He didn’t really know.

Hawkeye tilted her head a bit sideways, “Besides, everyone says you’re a terrible houseguest.”

“They said what?” Roy glared up. He was going to be having words. Strict words, on top of pulling rank.

“Don’t worry,” Hawkeye grinned at him. “I said I’d like to experience to it for myself. Was beginning to feel a bit left out. See you back at my place?”

It was only after she’d closed the door that Roy Mustang realized he was going to have to sleep in Riza Hawkeye’s spare room for the foreseeable future. In other words, he was in deep shit.

 .

_A few days ago…_

“I’m serious, Hawkeye, you don’t want to be offering the General your spare room,” Breda said, loose-lipped and only slightly pinkish from his fourth beer. “He’s terrible.”

“A nightmare,” Havoc affirmed. The collar of his shirt was open and he scratched idly at his throat.

“He snores,” Falman added.

Riza then looked at Fuery, who was trying to disappear into the dregs of his beer. He seemed determined not to look at her so she took initiative: “Fuery? Nothing to add?”

“He well,” Feury rubbed the bridge of his nose, “The General has fallen asleep in my bathtub before. But that’s not nearly as interesting.”

“On the contrary, that is really interesting,” Riza widened her eyes, “Why?”

“He was drunk?” Feury hedged. “My place was closer than his and he just sort of...invited himself over. I couldn’t brush my teeth in the morning. Way awkward.”

“Great, so all you’re saying is that I need to Mustang-proof my bathtub and buy some earplugs,” She ticked the items off with her fingers and the men just stared at her. “I can handle that -- what?”

“Or,” Havoc slung an arm around Riza and her nose filled with beer. “You can just admit that you. Like. Him.”

Riza felt an uncharacteristic sort of red, the kind that couldn’t be blamed on trying to keep up with the boys. Besides, she was pretty good about that sort of thing, which they’d cottoned on to. “I don’t date unavailable men.”

“He’s so available he’s sleeping _in his office_ ,” Falman smirked. “I’m sure the ladies are lining up.”

“You never know,” said Breda. “I’m pretty sure that’s a thing now. You know, a sex thing.” He added this on, as if he was pretty sure the others wasn’t going to take it as a sex thing. Everyone else, with perhaps a slightly healthier sex life than Breda, or maybe just desperate to appear that way, rolled their eyes in unison.

“You guys are hopeless,” Riza said, standing. She was towards the bottom of her glass anyway and she was hungry. As far as Riza was concerned, the matter was closed.

“You like him!” Havoc called after her and Riza resisted the urge to throw the beer glass in her hand in his general direction.

. 

_Several days later…_

Whether Riza Hawkeye liked Roy Mustang (or indeed vice versa) was a very small consideration in the grand scheme of things. She never did figure out how to Mustang-proof her bathroom, but he showed up with a suitcase and seemed impressed with her spare room. It really was not much, but it was better than a sleeping bag under a desk.

(And, though Riza knew neither of them would mention it, her spare room, with its sparse bed and even a small working desk that had belonged to her father, was miles and miles better than anything the General would have been offered by any of the others.)

He ran his hand over one of the nicks on the smooth surface of the desk, “This is a nice room.”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

He looked at her, “I’m not surprised! I’m just…” Mustang’s jaw worked, as if he was willing the right words to come to him. “Thank you, Hawkeye.”

It certainly wasn’t the first time that he’d thanked her, but this time, the words held something else, they could have easily settled behind Riza’s ribcage like some sort of gnarly piece of shrapnel. “It’s really not a problem. Just don’t go doing anything funny in my bathtub.”

Mustang groaned and flopped down on the bed, "Feury told you about that? It wasn't like was doing anything weird in the bath. He could have brushed his teeth! That's libelous."

"You don't call sleeping in a bathtub abnormal?" Riza raised her eyebrows at him. "And sometimes a man likes some privacy while brushing his teeth."

"Who thinks that?" He flipped around and looked at her. "Your boyfriend?"

Riza rolled her eyes, "I'm already dating you -- guys, as you so eloquently put it. I was thinking along the lines of you know, normal people. Do you want some dinner?"

.

The thing was this: Roy Mustang didn't start out trying to be a terrible house guest. After all, he disliked it when people imposed on him and tried to make the best of it. It was, partially bad luck and partially because gossip was never a good thing and if he'd known Fuery was indeed that ticked off about Roy taking over his tub for a night, then he wished the man had had the guts to say.

But anyway, the long and short of it was that Roy didn't do very well in strange places and had enough trouble sleeping as it was. It was strange being in Hawkeye's spare room, knowing that she was in the same house and sleeping. Or maybe she wasn't.

Roy got out of bed and positioned himself with his feet flat on the floor. He noted that there wasn't much room, but though he was hardly a beggar, he was left with a few choices. Her floorboards were rather creaky, but Roy thought he was doing a well enough job at keeping quiet before he stubbed his toe near Berthold Hawkeye's old desk and swore.

\-- Probably a bit louder than he meant to, because a moment later, the light had come on in the spare room and Roy blinked at the sudden harsh light.

"...General? You all right in there?"

It occurred to him that he'd never seen Hawkeye in her nightdress before, and he hadn't any idea what she wore to sleep. There was the part of Roy that was very much a man that wondered if she wore nothing at all, but no, it was a nightdress; he certainly didn't think that Hawkeye would be someone who went for something with lace and frills, but he was always happy when he learned -- something. This counted, kind of. "...I'm -- sorry. Did I wake you?"

She stared at him, eyes bleary with sleep, "You did just yell. I'd be surprised if you didn't wake up the whole block."

"Come now," Roy was too, suddenly aware of how underdressed he was, too. For starters, he wasn't exactly wearing a shirt, and he wondered if Hawkeye was low-key judging him for not exercising enough. It wasn't as if he didn't want to. He just...had a lot to do. And Roy didn't have a proper place to sleep. That was as good an excuse as any. "This city's lived through bombs or worse. Some idiot screaming over a hurt toe is hardly anything."

"...And how is your toe? Need a bandage? Some ice?" He was pretty sure that last bit about the ice was a dig. But it was also about four in the morning and he wasn't sure.

Roy disliked the way she worried about his toe. To him, a toe was hardly anything. And Roy liked to think that Riza -- Hawkeye -- Hawkeye knew that, "It's just a toe."

She stared him down, in the way he didn't like, "It's really nothing. I was just doing some...stretches."

"Stretches."

"They help me sleep," Roy said and suddenly, he felt very naked, and cold. He got back into the bed again and she stood over him.

"General," Hawkeye said. "Are you all right." It helps a little, with assuaging his pride, that she doesn't phrase it as a question. Things that weren't questions didn't exactly require answers.

"I try to be," he said. For the first time in a very long time, Roy told the truth.

"Me too," said Hawkeye, looking like Riza, some kind of saint in her nightdress and she didn't leave the room. Idly, Roy wondered why it took him so long to notice.

.

"I bet you're regretting not Mustang-proofing your bathroom," said Breda to Riza in the breakroom. No one had seen Brigadier General Roy Mustang all morning and everyone had an opinion.

"What does that even mean? I did brush my teeth this morning!"

Breda fixed her with a long look. When the look finally lessened in intensity, Riza breathed into her palm and to her immense relief, her breath still smelled like her toothpaste. Then he said, "We're starting a pool. You want in? Feury's got a week, which is just _ridiculous_."

"Sure," Riza said, "I'll take a month."

"That's optimistic," said Breda, but not entirely sarcastically because he was undoubtedly thinking of all the money he was going to make.

.

"Where's my gunmetal?" said Riza, like it was a perfectly normal question. Roy was now qualifying a lot of things that she asked him with 'like falling asleep in the bath when you were only sort of drunk.' He looked up from where he was setting the table. 

"You do know that the dining room table is a very strange place to clean your gun? What if I accidentally put something in the salad?" 

"...Did you put something in the salad?" She said. That was all that left Riza's mouth, but what she could have added was that this was <i>her</i> house, and she could clean her guns wherever she damn well liked. And besides, the dining room table was a convenient flat surface. The other flat surface was in Roy's room, and she respected his privacy. 

"I," Roy made a face. "No? At least, not on purpose." 

Riza went over to the salad, where after a bit of poking around, she found two -- no, three screws nestled happily in bits of onion. "Seriously?" 

"I just wanted you to rib me about something besides the bath?" Roy tried. 

Riza drew in a deep breath and considered putting her gun together so she could make a point. Roy still did his exercises in the middle of the night making an awful racket, but again, maybe there was something to them.

"I'd shoot you, but we have to at least last a month," she said. And Riza had to admit, gunmetal aside, the salad and the strange pie thing that Roy had rustled up for their dinner looked and smelled quite good.

Roy looked at her, "What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing, except that you _are_ taking me out to dinner."

 .

“But you know,” Falman peered at them with rapt curiosity, “I guess I’m just kind of impressed? I mean, you’ve not killed each other! What gives?”

Between the two of them, Roy was suddenly very glad that he and Riza Hawkeye had more or less twenty years of experience of deflecting probing bullshit honed by the most unruly bunch in Amestris. He’d put a bet in their pool, which was due to pay off at the end of the month.

While Roy did feel a tiny bit terrible deceiving his subordinates in such a way (for these exact purposes, it was better to think of them as subordinates rather than friends -- the latter would make Roy feel markedly worse), he was more looking forward to taking Riza out for a nice meal with the winnings.

Lord knew she deserved it.

“Oh,” said Riza with a halfhearted glare in Roy’s direction that mostly read like she was tired. In some ways, he supposed she’d have to be, “Trust me. I’m about up to here,” she put her hand flat and level against his throat. “If someone puts gunmetal in the salad again someone’s going to get it.”

Roy winced, “That someone’s sitting right here, you know.”

But underneath the table, Roy squeezed Riza’s hand.


End file.
